


Alone with You

by missfeministfangirl



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missfeministfangirl/pseuds/missfeministfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt that asked for Steve being the only one Natasha feels safe being vulnerable around. Just to be clear this isn’t a “she-a-lady-therefore-she’s-emotional” thing, I just wanted a fic that explored the healing powers of super soldier cuddles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone with You

**Author's Note:**

> self betad

The first time had been an accident and she had been horribly, infuriatingly embarrassed. She had gone to the gym because she had been feeling depressed and empty and she had hoped she could take out her feelings on her own body or a punching bag. She had hurled her fists at the canvas unrelentingly and when she felt the first warm tear touch her cheek she was almost surprised, had almost convinced herself that this wasn’t what she had come down here to avoid. She wiped it away and let her fists fly, but it wasn’t enough to banish the dull ache in her chest, or the thoughts that would not stop tugging at her mind. 

“Thank goodness I brought extras, it looks like you might need them.”

She stiffened and turned around to see Steve standing in the doorway with a punching bag slung over each shoulder. For a moment the absurdity of the image almost made her laugh but she suspected it would have sounded slightly hysterical. Instead she simply raised a questioning eyebrow at Steve as he left one bag on the ground and suspended the other.

“I tend to go through them pretty fast. Super strength isn’t always a good thing.” He said, sighing, before he gave the punching bag its first hit.

Steve’s sudden arrival had left her feeling shaken. She found herself backing away towards the wall, tugging her practice gloves off almost frantically. She felt like something was stuck in her throat and she couldn’t swallow past it and couldn’t breathe around it and she felt herself sliding down the wall, sinking to the floor.

She hadn’t realized that she had closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, and Steve was there, kneeling in front her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked with a gentleness that belied the fact that he was someone who could flip over a car if he wanted to.

“Nothing” she said. Why couldn’t she control this, why couldn’t she have just kept it together, just ignored it like she did every other day

She had thought that Steve might call her out, or just leave awkwardly without saying anything. Instead he sat down beside her, his knee brushing hers and said,

“Ok.”

He stayed with her a while; she didn’t cry again, thank god, but she certainly wasn’t ready to talk or move until she had whatever this was under control. She was frustrated; she tried so hard to always be strong, to appear completely invincible and most of the time, it’s wasn’t a struggle. She was, after all, a highly skilled assassin and spy, and power and confidence were not hard to hold on to. Except when they were, except on those occasions when none of that seemed to matter, when all of that seemed to slip from her fingers and she had to confront herself and who she was without those things.

At some point Steve moved a little, shifting lower to lay his head against her shoulder and now he looked up at her through his lashes. Something insider her shifted and by some unspoken communication he seemed to know that she was better. He got up and went back to sparring , like nothing had happened.

Maybe that was why she came back the second time. Because Steve hadn’t tried to laugh off her vulnerability, hadn’t tried to crack a joke to break the tension, he hadn’t run away from the awkwardness, hadn’t spouted platitudes. He had been there for her without pushing her. 

Maybe that was why she came back when she ended another day feeling stripped bare and restless. She found him with the rest of the team in front of the T.V. in Stark Tower preparing to watch a movie. He had saved her a seat beside him and she slid into it, enjoying the steadiness of his presence. 

The movie was long and people steadily filtered out until it was just her and Steve as the credits rolled. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes were heavy as she cuddled up against his side saying, 

“You should go to bed.”

To which he replied, “No, I’m fine here.” before wrapping a blanket around them and closing his eyes. When she woke in the morning they were stretched lengthwise on the couch, the blanket curled around them like a cocoon. And for a moment she let herself soak up the warmth of human contact before she forced herself to get up and go back to her own room. 

Maybe it was the fact of Steve’s past, that he hadn’t always been a superhero, that he had once been a 90 pound nobody from Brooklyn who wanted to do good for his country, that made her sure he would understand vulnerability, not only why she felt it but also why she wanted to fight it. He could understand why you might not regret the way your life had gone, but you could still dream about what could have been different.

On another day she found herself outside his room late at night and she opened it to find him sitting in bed with his sketchbook, the dull light of a bedside lamp illuminating the handsome planes of his face. He threw back the sheets and she curled in beside him, listening to the scratching of his charcoal until he turned off the light and curled himself around her.

It became a regular thing. Sometimes she didn’t come until very late at night when she had finally accepted insomnia; he would already be asleep, waking up for a moment as she slipped in beside him and pulled his arm around her. Sometimes she would come early, sitting beside him with a book as he sketched. One night she found a cup of tea waiting for her; she took a hesitant sip: chamomile with honey. It was all so goddamn domestic.

“You’re so…kind” she said later that night

She felt him smile against her shoulder. He dropped a kiss there before saying,

“So are you. But I won’t tell anyone.”


End file.
